


Cold in my professions, Warm in my friendships

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Gay John Laurens, Gen, Lams - Freeform, M/M, Minor Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 02:38:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6176899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>re·gret<br/>rəˈɡret/</p><p>verb<br/>1.<br/>feel sad, repentant, or disappointed over something that has happened or been done, especially a loss or missed opportunity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold in my professions, Warm in my friendships

Alexander’s words haunt him, they flow through his mind like an unending symphony of want and anguish and love. Everywhere he goes, they are there. Every battle he fights in, they drive him to victory. Every night spent alone in his tent as he lay on his cot, they comfort him and torment him all at the same time. It’s terrible and beautiful and he hates it and he loves it.

 Laurens recites those words to himself almost constantly, rhythmically, when he awakes to the brightest dawn and when he lay to sleep at the darkest night he thinks of Alexander’s words. His eyes burn and his chest aches with the longing, horrible pain of his love for Alexander. At the notion of what is never to be.

 He curses Elizabeth and he curses Martha and he even curses Alexander. He curses him for ever entering his life and making him fall into the deepest depths of love, curses him for bringing these emotions unto him, and then he curses himself.

 Curses himself for the bitter resentment he feels towards Elizabeth. She was beautiful, kind, smart, she did not deserve his anger and yet he found himself directing it at her none the less. For if it had not been her to wed Alexander then perhaps no one ever would have, he rarely opened himself up to the vulnerability of relationships, the feelings of love and the attachments one forms to those they care deeply of. But Eliza had managed to claw her way forth into his heart, and tear it right from his chest, making him a prisoner to her love.

 But could Laurens say he wouldn’t have done exactly the same? Pull Alexander’s beating heart from the firm grasp of solitude and lonesome he had so carefully wrapped and surrounded it in and make it his own to love and warm and protect? Carefully peeling and chipping away at the walls and layers that so desperately shielded it from the dangers of love and commitment? No. He cannot because he knows, without one single doubt in his mind, that if Elizabeth had never come into Alexander’s life, Laurens would have fought and wept and bled to make Alexander his.

 But yet there he lay, alone and cold and half dead, having done all of those things, all of those things for Hamliton, and still he was not his.

 Alexander’s words flooded his senses, left him completely defenseless and destroyed, took him far away from the world he had been living in in that moment. The canon fire and screaming of his troops nothing more than a buzz in the background of the golden, explosive symphony of the words his dearest had written him. While he was not there to speak them to Laurens himself, he need not be, for he had long since memorized the fluid and hurried way in which he spoke. The way in which his words almost ran together completely, barely being separated by  pause or a breath, stringing together palaces of paragraphs and beautiful cathedrals of words, each having always been followed by Laurens’ himself with bated breath and wide eyes.

 Now his expression was one of drooping, heavy eyelids, the smallest of smiles grazing across his bloodied lips and sparking in his glazed over eyes. He had never been one to hide his emotions, they always poured into his eyes, his expression, it was visible to all those who had seen the man the kinds of things he was feeling at any given moment. And in this moment he was feeling all the things Alexander had ever brought upon him. Love, misery, spite, and anger, true, unbridled, pain, and, anguish, and longing. Longing for his love, for his friend, for his partner in this life and any after it.

 But in this moment Lauren’s was only with himself and the throbbing pain which exploded through him every second he lay there in the dirt and grime and blood. He knew his end was near, the very world above him fading and growing black at the edges as his vision swirled and doubled, in and out of focus constantly.

 He did not fear what was to come for a man such as himself, he had long since known the most probable death the Lord would bestow upon him would be to die at the hands of his enemy, fighting in glory. The only wish he could possibly have at this time was for Alexander to be at his side, even if it only meant to have his sorrowful face as the last sight he ever see. But the only thing in front of his eyes now was the cold and wet earth as his vision finally began to disappear. His last thought before he was swept into the arms of the great unknown and left this world were of his Alexander, as the cold, black tendrils of death curled around him, he recited those same words as he had done so many times before, the faintest of smiles crossing his face.

 

 _“_ _Cold in my professions, warm in my friendships, I wish, my Dear Laurens, it might be in my power, by action rather than words, to convince you that I love you”_

 

And so he had.


End file.
